The Spy Who Came to Kirkwall
by No Country For Old Men78
Summary: Through impossibly improbable means Michael Westen is transported to a fantasy world where templars and mages share an uneasy coexistence. (Silly!)Rogue FHawke/Michael W.(4th season)
1. The Spy Who Came to Kirwall

_A well-dressed man is standing on a street corner of an outdoor marketplace in Lagos, Nigeria__. _

_"My name is Michael Westen, and I used to be a spy, until-_

_(phone rings)_

'We're putting you in a videogame universe courtesy of a negative space wedgie using applied phlebotinum as a weak cover for a self-insert pairing fantasy of a washed-up barely competent short story author trying to relive his glory days writing fanfiction...

_*beat*_

You're blacklisted.'

_(The man disappears in a puff of smoke.)_

_"When you're at the whims of an incompetent fanfic writer, you've got nothing: no cash, no credit, no job history, no plot. You're stuck in__whatever city they decide to dump you in__-_

_(Michael waking up on a bench in the Hanged Man)_ 'Where am I?'

_(Hawke propped up on her elbow grinning at him)__ '_Kirkwall!'

_"You do whatever work comes your way. You rely on anyone who's still talking to you: _

_"Hawke, hero of the oppressed, champion of Kirkwall, unrepentant kleptomaniac, sarcasm expert;_

_(Hawke talking to a Templar and waving her hands frantically)_

'I caught him sacrificing goats and doing demony things!'

_"Varric, a wisecracking rogue dwarf:_

_(Varric lounging in his private suite and sipping a beer)_

'You know Templars; bunch of bitchy little girls!'

_"Elves that are either moody sluggers-_

_(Fenris glares at him as his lyrium tattoos glow)_

'How do I know if you're not one of those Tevinter mages too?'

_"or ditzy dabblers in blood magic-__if you're desperate__:_

_(Merrill stops in a dungeon and looks down)_

'Eww, I think I stepping in something!'

_"Bottom line: As long as your author continues churning out his SI fantasy drivel, you're not going anywhere."_

Kitty Hawke spent a good hour studying the man that Varric's contacts in the Coterie brought in from the docks. When her trusty dwarf friend had told her that the new arrival was 'strange' she didn't know what to make of it. Now looking at him she could see that Varric's description was, if anything, an understatement to the master tale-weaver. The visitor was a man with dark hair and sunburned skin. He had loose fitting breeches the color of sand, boots made from densely woven fabric of the same color, and a dark grey shirt. His cuirass was of some black material that was neither leather nor mail nor metal, and he had what looked like a crossbow made of black metal strapped in a sling by his side. In short, his clothes and weapons looked like nothing from Kirkwall, Ferelden or anywhere. Finally she got impatient enough to poke him, just hard enough to wake him up.

Michael's woke up with a start, eyes darting about to take in his surroundings. The rough wooden bench that he had been using as an improvised bed was the first thing he felt, the strains of stringed minstrel music and glassware clinking were the first things he heard, the rancid smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies was the first thing he smelt. But it was what his eyes first saw that caused him the most shock.

_"Waking up in a foreign environment is something that becomes second nature to a spy. The key is to examine your surroundings with whatever senses are available to you to find the clues to your whereabouts. You wake up with a burlap sack over your head that smells like stale coffee in a place that feels like a blast furnace with sand in every crevice, chances are you're the "guest" of Somali pirates. Wake up on a bench of some rustic tavern with a redhead staring at you like you're the special on the menu, you could be anywhere from the local renaissance festival, or a hallucination brought on by being on the receiving end of too much waterboarding."_

It was young woman, wearing leather armor the likes of which would be more appropriate in a King Arthur epic than in Miami. She looked to be in her early twenties, with dark red hair and green eyes. She was sitting at a table next to the bench he was laying on, her elbow on the table and her hand propping up her head as she stared at him. He knew the look.

"Where am I?" He mumbled.

She grinned at him.

"Finally you're awake. You're in The Hanged Man. A tavern in Kirkwall, if you want to be specific."

She must have caught on to the look of confusion on his face.

"Kirkwall as in a city state in the Free Marches? Well, I suppose we should start with introductions. My name is Katarina Hawke, but my friends call me Kitty. And you are?"

_(caption under Hawke reads "Pretty Redhead" and then slides away to say "Hawke")_

"Michael Westen, of Miami."

_(caption under Michael reads "Confused, Lost")_

"I've never heard of Miami, is it in the Tevinter Imperium?"

"You probably haven't because this is probably all a nightmare. I'm guessing the Agency finally caught up to me and this is all just a hallucination as a result of them breaking me."

"Well Hawke, looks like the stranger is finally awake." Varric's voice said off to the side.

Michael turned and looked at the newcomer. He was a shorter man in a leather greatcoat with what appeared to be a crossbow slung behind his back.

"Let me guess, you're a dwarf, right?"

Varric stared as the stranger broke out into a mirthless grin.

"Well, I'm too short to be a templar, and mages can't pull off the sexy chest hair like I can. The name's Varric, by the way."

_(caption under Varric says "Short beardless dwarf?" to "Varric")_

He shook his head in disbelief.

"Great, all we're missing is an elf and a sexy pirate wench."

He heard someone come up behind him, and a Welsh-accented female voice spoke up.

"Did someone say something about elves? Do you not have elves where you come from?"

He turned around and saw a lithe female brunette who could have been anywhere from her teens to early twenties. And she had long, pointed ears.

"Oh, I'm forgetting myself again, I do that a lot don't I? My name is Merril, what's yours?"

_(caption under the newcomer says "Merril, Elf")_

Before Michael could speak another voice spoke up from the bar.

"Oh Hawke, you wicked naughty girl, you've been holding out on me."

Michael looked over his shoulder and saw a dark-skinned woman wearing a cotton corset and thigh-length leather boots. Her amber eyes were appraising him with undisguised lust.

"Mmmm and he looks much nicer than some of the other men you bring home, I'm Isabella, Captain Isabella if you want to be formal."

_(caption under Isabella says "Sexy Pirate Wench" and then the "Wench" is replaced with "Captain")_

Michael couldn't believe it. He had to be hallucinating or this was some elaborate trick by Vaughn's employers. He looked up at the ceiling.

"Vaughn! Or whoever is doing this! This isn't funny and it's not working, I'll never break!"

Merrill turned to Hawke.

"He must be from far away. I've never heard of a deity called "Vonn."

Michael didn't appear to have heard her, and continued to talk to himself.

"Great. I'm stuck in a hallucination with a pirate, an elf, a dwarf and a redhead that talks like Mary Poppins."

_(AN: So I thought this would be a fun little April Fools' joke. For now this is a one-shot until I finish my Spec Ops: The Line/Familiar of Zero crossover, but after I've finished it I'll come back to this one. Follow or Fav or Comment if you'd like to see this become a full-blown story!)_


	2. Of Warts and Minotaurs

"Hawke, are you sure it is wise bringing the stranger with us on this mission?"

Aveline gestured over her shoulder to the man called Westen, who had scouted out ahead to look for ambushes. Hawke shrugged.

"I've seen how he handles himself in a fight, and I trust him."

After hearing the stranger named Michael Westen's fantastic tale about being from a far-off land where technology reigned supreme and magic was a thing of legend, both Hawke and Varric concluded it would be safer to tell the rest of their companions that this Michael Westen was a spy from a far-off land called Miami, and was fleeing his former masters with a price on his head. This was essentially true, if his story was to be believed. So when the dwarf Jaravis came to Hawke with a mission from the mysterious Qunari leader to rid the Wounded Coast of some of their deserters, Hawke decided it would be a good idea to bring along the stranger to test his skills. Over the objections of Aveline. Their conversation was interrupted by Michael's return.

"Hawke, we may have found those Tal-Vashoth or whatever you call them. One of them, apparently who didn't have the stomach for thieving, warned me that his former comrades are further up the coast waiting to ambush caravans."

Hawke nodded.

"Any idea on numbers?"

Michael shook his head.

"More than a dozen, less than fifty. The surrounding area is chock full of hidey-holes but any more than a few dozen would be too crowded and wouldn't be able to support a full-blown army."

She smiled.

"You seem to know quite a bit about warfare, for a Tevinter spy."

The man called Michael Westen smiled grimly.

"I told you, I'm from Miami, not Tevinter. And where I come from, spies are usually ex-military with lots of combat experience under their belts. Increases their survivability."

With that he pushed ahead. Hawke turned to the Guard-Captain turned friend.

"Are you more impressed now?"

Aveline nodded.

"Yes, I am. And I still don't trust him. If anything he's more dangerous than I thought. I'll still be watching him."

Michael's voice rang out.

"Contact left, up ahead!"

Michael still couldn't believe he was fighting what was essentially eight foot tall minotaurs. Considering in the last twenty-four hours he had encountered elves, dwarves and mages, it was quite a shock to his system. One of the minotaurs, or Tal-Vashoth, threw his pike at Michael. He dodged it easily, and fired off a shot that hit the creature square in the chest. It only appeared to anger the creature, and it charged him. Michael sidestepped the creature's charge and plunged his SealTac knife into its forearm.

_"The key to hand-to-hand combat is to be able to close the distance between you and your opponent without putting them on their guard. The IDF uses a form of this called Krav Magra. It's useful against just about any opponent.-"_

The Tal-Vashioth glared at the blade stuck in his arm, and backhanded Michael sending him flying.

_"-Unfortunately, no amount of military training can prepare you to go toe to toe with a 8 __foot tall minotaur hell bent on turning you into red paste."_

Michael struggled with his G36 rifle and managed a wide shot that hit the creature in the shoulder. It wasn't enough to fell it, but the shot did throw the Tal-Vashoth off balance enough for him to take a second, more careful shot.

_"There are many dissenting opinions on caliber size versus the size of your opponent. Many gun enthusiasts are a fan of the 'bigger is better' mentality. And there is some truth to it. But, ask any Special Forces soldier and he will tell you that with proper aiming skill just about any rifle round will do…"_

He aimed and fired.

_ "…a 5.56 x 45mm bullet may not do much damage to an opponent's center of mass, but if you put the same bullet in said opponent's right eye socket, he will go down just as quickly as a high-caliber counterpart."_

The creature head jerked back from the impact of the bullet, and flew onto its back. He looked up and saw that Hawke's companions had dispatched the other Tal-Vashoth. Hawke was crouched next to one of the bodies and was riffling through the pouches and pockets of the dead Tal-Vashoth, humming to herself as she did. He heard Aveline's voice.

"What on earth are you singing, Hawke?"

Hawke threw aside a bit of rope and stood up.

"It's the 'Loot Song', you have to sing the loot song when you loot the dead bodies, otherwise you won't get good stuff. Come on, Aveline sing along!"

The knight folded her arms.

"Hawke, as Guard-Captain I don't have a problem accompanying you on your little escapades, because every mercenary or ne'er do well we kill makes Kirkwall safer. I'm even willing to turn a blind eye when you loot the dead for valuables, since they are ill-gotten gains anyways. But I will not participate in looting, and I most certainly will not sing your ridiculous loot song!"

Carver spoke up.

"Well said, Guard-Captain Aveline!"

He turned to Hawke.

"Sister, I cannot in good conscience allow this."

Hawke continued to search the pockets, pulling out a small leather pouch of coins.

"Did you hear me? I said-"

"Oh, shut it, Wart. I heard you the first time. I'm just ignoring you."

She looked up and tossed the small bag to Michael, who stared at the pouch.

"It's money, Michael. About twenty silver, give or take. That's your cut of the loot, since you did some of the heavy lifting."

Carver looked indignant.

"Wait, you're giving a stranger money but not your own brother?"

Hawke turned back to face her brother.

"But didn't you just say that you wanted no part of it? That's why I gave Michael your share."

Michael Westen smiled, in spite of his ridiculous predicament. As much as he could glean from his new employer Katarina Hawke, or Kitty, as she liked to be called; he was in a world called Thedas, in a country called the Free Marches. The city-state that he was currently residing in was called Kirkwall, and the area they currently were cleansing of villains was called the Wounded Coast. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted.

"For the last time! My name is Carver!"

"I know, it's just more fun to call you Wart."

Michael spoke up.

"Question, Hawke."

She looked over and smiled at him.

"I told you Michael, it's Kitty, don't be so formal."

"Riiight, yeah Kitty I just was wondering why you call your brother that."

"Oh, you mean why I call him 'Wart?' That's easy, my father, who was a mage, when we were little once rebuked Carver for picking on his twin sister Bethany. Father told him 'Son, stop teasing your sister, or I'll turn you into a toad and we'll change your name to Wart.' And the name stuck."

She looked back over to Carver.

"And like his namesake, he is also a stubborn pain in the arse."

Isbella giggled.

"Wart. I like it, it has a certain ring to it."

Hawke searched the last dead Tal-Vashoth and unwrapped a bundle. She stood up and handed the bundle to Michael. When he unwrapped it there were two serrated blades. The handles were worn and the blades were tarnished, but the edge was still razor sharp. He looked up to Hawke.

"There, now you have something other than your fists and that little kitchen knife to fight with."

Michael looked woundedly down at his SealTac and back to the blades. The two blades were well balanced in his hands, and he could use his edged weapons training. And conserve his ammo.

"So, is this all of these rogue Tal-Vashoth or whatever they're called?"

Hawke shook her head, and the silver-haired elf with the oversized broadsword and the odd glowing tattoos spoke.

"No, there's more in the cave, this was just the scouting party, by the look of it."

Michael shook his head.

"Great. Dungeon-crawling, that's all I was missing today."

Merrill looked over to Hawke.

"You know, I think that your friend Michael might not be right in the head. He seems to talk to himself a lot. Maybe he has an imaginary friend? I used to have lots of imaginary friends..."

_(AN: So I'm working through a writer's cramp in my other story, and churned this quick chapter out as a teaser. Hope you enjoy, I don't see updating it in the near future unless I can balance out both stories.)_


	3. Friends Like These

Michael had been up for hours. Kitty Hawke had apologetically told him that there wasn't any room at her house, since they were rooming with their Uncle Gamlen. So she had Varric set him up with a room at the Hanged Man. Now down in the almost empty bar area, Michael was officially bored.

_"__As a spy, you get to spend a lot of time alone... Whether you're in an Indonesian prison, a cave in the Afghan mountains, the back of a cargo truck, or some tavern in a medieval world of magic, it comes with the job. You're trained to make the most of it, plan your next move, go over your intel, review your training, but, when you've cleaned your gun thirty times, and reviewed the past tense of every verb in five languages, you start to get restless."_

He stripped off his shirt and started doing push-ups on one of the benches.

_"__Working out is a good way to pass time, it keeps you fit for the next job, and helps relieve the boredom while keeping you focused."_

He glanced over towards the bar and shook his head.

_"__Of course, this is much easier to do when you don't have an audience."_

Isabella was eyeing the stranger, naked to the waist, doing some sort of physical exercise.

"What are you doing, Isabella, is there something to look at-oh?"

She glanced over and saw Merrill staring at Michael.

"He's quite muscular; he looks quite different without his shirt. Like a Qunari, but without the horns on his head."

She cocked her head to one side as she looked at the pirate wench.

"Are we being rude, I mean staring at him?"

Isabella smiled.

"Of course not, kitten. It would be rude not to ogle."

A third female voice spoke up behind them.

"What on earth are you two doing?"

Merrill jumped and turned around.

"Oh, hello Hawke! We're just ogling Ser Westen as he exercises."

Kitty Hawke shook her head, grinning. She couldn't blame her companions for staring, but it didn't quash the pang of jealousy she felt.

"Both of you are incorrigible. Where's Varric? We're supposed to meet up with Jaravis at the Qunari compound."

That brought Isabella out of her reverie.

"Oh, I'm sorry Hawke, I can't make it, I have…something else to do."

Hawke shook her head and looked back over towards the stranger named Michael Westen, still working out and still seemingly oblivious to the audience he had garnered. While she was appreciating his lean, muscular and sweaty torso, she also noticed scars that crisscrossed his back and flanks. There were also circular, puckered scars; too symmetrical for dagger wounds, too large for arrow wounds. They must have been caused by the unusual projectile weapon he wielded and said was so commonplace in his world. She was roused from her thoughts by him speaking up as he was doing sit-ups.

"What's up, Hawke?"

She leaned against one of the beams and smiled.

"I told you, it's Kitty, no need to be so formal. How did you know I was here?"

"I could feel the eyes of your pirate queen and the ditzy elf boring into my back, and I overheard your conversation."

He sat up and faced her.

"Oh don't stop on my account."

He shook his head and pulled his shirt back on.

"Riiight, so what's the new gig? Killing pickpockets? Crawling dungeons? Or slaying a dragon?"

She giggled again.

"Oh, nothing like that, the Qunari leader was requesting our appearance. Actually his exact words were for 'the Bas who wields the power of the gaatlock and slayed all the Tal-Vashoth'."

**(30 minutes later, on the way to the Docks)**

"Michael, stop acting so tense, Kirkwall isn't that dangerous."

Truth be told Hawke was as tense and nervous as Michael, but she was unwilling to show it, for the sake of her companions.

Michael answered as he scanned an alleyway they passed.

"Experience has taught me to always treat any new environment as potentially hostile. It's helped keep me alive for as long as I have."

_"__Infiltration is a crucial part to any spy's mission. The key is to blend in to your surroundings; if you're a sniper in the bush, you wear a ghillie suit, if you're an 'advisor' in Afghanistan, you grow a beard, speak Pashtun, and learn to accessorize everything with a pakol."_

He turns suddenly and sees two young children staring at him wide-eyed.

_"__Then again, if you're in a medieval world where magic reigns supreme, and mundane items like a laser sight on your weapon or Kevlar body armor seem exotic and foreign, infiltrating without being noticed is going to be difficult."_

He felt Hawke's hand on his arm.

"It's alright, Michael, I've been living in Lowtown for over a year and it's perfectly safe."  
She paused for a moment.

"Well, alright it's not that safe, but in the daytime it's not that bad. And trust me, the locals are more curious about you than hostile."

Westen smiled grimly.

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"Really? Why would curiosity do that to a cat?"

Merrill had trotted up to the front, her bright green eyes wide with shock. Hawke smiled.

"Merrill, I think what Ser Westen said is that curiosity can be lethal. It's a figure of speech."

The elf nodded.

"Oh, I see what you mean. I certainly know what that is like. I mean, those guards were quite rude to me when I was curious about the Viscount's garden…"

Michael ignored the elf's prattling and turned back to Hawke.

"So I'm guessing this proud warrior race of minotaurs aren't from around here?"

Hawke shrugged.

"I'm not sure, they were shipwrecked here about a year ago, and the Viscount gave them a compound as sort of a gesture of goodwill."

Michael nodded.

"And a good way to contain a potential threat. But what are they, and what is this 'Qun' that they keep talking about?"

"I think I can explain, Westen."

The other elf in Hawke's group, a white-haired slugger with odd tattoos and a brooding disposition, spoke up.

"The Qun is the religion of the Qunari, it governs every part of their life, even the governing structure is dictated by it, and it gives every Qunari a defined and fixed place in their society."

"So, it's like a government philosophy versus a religion?"

The elf shook his head.

"No, in many ways it is a religion, they have their own priesthood that enforces the rules, the Ben-Hassrath, within the Qun everyone has a place, and nobody deviates from that place."

"Sounds like a fun place to be in."

He turned to the elf.

"Fenris, right?"

The elf nodded.

"So Fenris, you don't have horns, how is it that you know so much about these Qunari?"

Fenris shrugged.

"The Qun is open to everyone, and it's egalitarian views are very appealing to those slaves who escape the Tevinter Imperium."

He saw Westen staring at him.

"To answer your unasked question, no, I am not part of their 'religion', although I find parts of it appealing. In the end, they are every bit as fanatical as the conquering Tevinter mages, something I cannot stomach."

Michael shook his head and turned to Hawke.

"So Hawke-"

"Kitty."

"Right, so Kitty, these Qunari are basically a race of conquering warriors guided by centuries-old caste system of unbending rules with a 'convert or die' mentality?"

She smiled at him.

"Well, more or less, but that about it in a nutshell. I know it must seem rather alien to someone who comes from a far off land like Miami."

Michael chuckled.

"Actually Kitty, there are more similarities to my world than you might think."

They walked down a long flight of stone steps that led them towards the docks. To his left was a gated entrance guarded by one of the horned Qunari wearing red warpaint. Hawke spoke up.

"We have business with your leader."

The warrior glanced at Hawke, and then fixed his gaze on Michael, he eyed his clothes, armor and weapon. He spoke in a rough, rasping voice.

"You may pass, Bas."

Once inside Michael saw even more of the warriors all around the walls and courtyard.

"I don't mean to sound like an alarmist, but this is a perfect place for an ambush."

Hawke shushed him.

"They won't attack, at least not now."

She eyed one of the large guards wielding some sort of pike.

"Better let me do all the talking, though."

Michael smiled.

"Be my guest."

On one end of the courtyard was steps leading up to a raised dais, upon which was a long bench, like a throne. At the bottom of the steps was another dwarf.

"I take it that's our contact Jaravis?"

Hawke nodded, and as if on queue the dwarf turned and saw Hawke and her companions approach.

"Ah, my right hand arrives! Summon your Arishok, the bargain is done!"

_(Caption under the dwarf says 'Gimli?' and is replaced by 'Jaravis, the client')_

The dwarf turned to Hawke.

"About time you showed, I've been here for hours."

Michael wasn't paying attention to what the dwarf said, he was paying attention to the new arrival. It was a Qunari, with horns like the rest, but it was bigger than the others, more muscular with large red armored pauldrons and the horns were longer and decorated with gold rings. It paused, and sat down.

For a while the Qunari leader did not speak, but stared at them. Then Fenris stepped forward and spoke.

"Arishokost, Maraas shokra, Anaan esam Qun."

Michael understood nothing of what the elf said, but it was clear he was communicating in the Qunari's own language.

"The Qun from an elf? The madness of this…place."

The giant rumbled, and seemed more irritated than impressed. Hawke turned to Fenris.

"Friend of yours, Fenris?"

The elf shook his head.

"The Arishok is friend to no one."

_(Caption under the Qunari Leader says 'Leader of Taliban Minotaurs' and is replaced by 'Arishok')_

The dwarf continued to speak, clearly he was angling for taking credit for the purging of the Tal-Vashoth and garner some favor from him.

"…So, I'm here to open negotiations…for the explosive powder, as we agreed."

The Arishok leaned forward and spoke one word.

"No."

The dwarf leaned over and whispered to Hawke.

"He's not getting it, make your chatty elf say something."

Hawke turned to Fenris.

"Any insight, Fenris?"

The elf addressed the Arishok.

"Qunari do not abandon a debt, I humbly request clarification from the Arishok."

The Arishok shifted him his seat.

"I have a growing lack of disgust for you."

He rumbled in a tone that seemed almost amused.

"The dwarf imagined a deal for the gaatlock, he invented a task to prove his worth, when he has none."

Fenris bowed.

"Then we have wrongly inserted ourselves in your affairs. Would you have us kill this dwarf?"

Michael had to bite down a smirk at the reaction of Jaravis. The Arishok replied.

"If you have faced Tal-Vashoth, then he is not worthy of dying to you. As he was not worthy of dying to them."

He turned to stare at the dwarf.

"But you keep good company, so leave."

The dwarf left, grumbling about oxmen and dog lords. When he left, the Arishok spoke again.

"Few have faced Tal-Vashoth and lived, yet my eyes and ears tell me that one in your companions wields the power of the gaatlock."

The Arishok stood up causing his guards to stand and tense up. He strode very slowly but purposefully towards the stranger until he towered over Michael.

_"__They say you only get one chance to make a first impression. Doesn't matter if you're a store manager, a new hire, or a very lost spy facing down a 9 foot tall leader of fanatical warrior minotaurs, either way you've got to put your best foot forward." _

He looked up at the Arishok, who seemed perplexed by his sunglasses. He reached down with his clawed thumb and forefinger and pulled them off Michael's face, examining them.

"You are not from around here." He rumbled.

Michael very gingerly took his sunglasses back and put them in one of the pouches of his assault vest.

"That is an understatement. I come from a land called Miami, like Hawke I'm something of a refugee, as powerful men have placed a price on my head."

The Arishok cocked his head to one side.

"They say you are a spy, but you have the warrior's fire within you."

"Where I come from, spies are ex-military, or former warriors. The ones that aren't don't survive."

The Qunari leader nodded, and turned away, walking back up the steps with the same deliberate pace. When he reached the top he sat back down, and spoke.

"Our business is concluded Bas-Hawke. Take care in the company you keep, some are more dangerous than they appear."

**(5 minutes later, outside the Qunari Compound)**

Hawke let out a sigh of relief.

"Well that went well."

Fenris folded his arms and glared.

"What do you mean, Hawke? That cowardly dwarf left without paying us!"

Hawke smiled.

"Well, at least we left with our heads still attached to our necks, that's always a plus!"

She nodded at her dwarf companion.

"Besides, Varric knows where to hunt down Jaravis, we can shake him down for the coin later."

She motioned to Michael.

"And apparently the Arishok is frightened of Michael, so that's a bonus. Come on, last one to the Hanged Man has to buy the first round!"

_(AN: Another chapter, another teaser. I don't think I'm going to walk you through every quest in Dragon Age II with our favorite spy from Miami, because that would take forever, and given how infrequently I update it would take forever times two, rather do certain missions that are critical to the plot. Believe it or not there is a reason Michael Westen is in Kirkwall. Stay tuned!)_


	4. Family Business

_(AN: So here's another chapter, it's short but it does have a purpose in setting up things for the future. Also, bonus points to anyone who got the reference to Hawke's nickname of Carver.)_

Michael looked down at the tankard of ale that was handed to him by Nora the barmaid. It was dark and had a very hoppy smell to it.

_"__As a spy, you travel all over the world, and you're exposed to all sorts of customs and cultures. And unless you spend most of your times in countries that have outlawed alcohol, at some point you're going to have to take a drink with your new contacts. It helps with the bonding experience and establishes rapport. Whether its homemade aquavit brewed by your Norwegian contact in Kiev, or some orguro from your asset's father in the Democratic Republic of Congo, at some point you're going to have to drink something very potent, and/or disgusting."_

He took a sip and made a wry face.

_"…__and after years of drinking whatever rockgut is put in front of you for diplomacy's sake, it's safe to say it never gets any easier."_

"I don't see why I have to buy the first round."

Michael's musings were interrupted by Fenris' complaint. Varric sipped his ale and chuckled.

"Oh come on, Broody, you're just sore because you lost."

"No, I'm sore because a certain pirate tripped me, otherwise I wouldn't have been last."

Isabella put one of her thigh boots on the table, right in front of Michael, and showing more leg than was appropriate for professional acquaintances.

"Then wear try wearing shoes, Fenris, then you won't be so easy to trip. And you can trip others, too."

She looked over to Michael.

"Enjoying the view, Ser Westen?"

Michael shook his head.

"It's hard to enjoy the view with your boots in the way."

"I bet you tell all the pretty girls that."

"No, just the ones who shove their boots in my face."

He stood up, leaving his ale tankard. Varric chuckled.

"Well well, Isabella I think you just got stood up."

She was about to come up with another playful retort when Hawke came in with her sister in tow. Bethany appeared very worried.

"Sister, I'm telling you I saw him."

Kitty Hawke shook her head.

"Bethany, you're imaging things."

She turned to Varric.

"Varric, you know everything that goes on in Lowtown, Bethany is worried because there's a Templar downstairs in the bar."

The dwarf leaned back in his chair.

"Let me guess, balding, bad beard and looks drunk as a Chanter on Andraste's birthday?"

Hawk nodded, and Varric waved his hand.

"Don't worry yourself, Sunshine. Roderick is a drunkard who is at the Hanged Man more than he is at the Gallows. And if he's not drunk, he's high on Lyrium. He's harmless."

That seemed to calm Hawke's younger sister. Michael was leaving when Hawke and her sister showed up and was now watching the exchange.

"Excuse me, Hawke?"

She turned to him and playfully swatted him on the elbow.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's Kitty. If you say 'Hawke' in a room full of Hawke's they're liable to get confused. And we're a confused lot as it is."

Michael chuckled to himself.

"Okay, Kitty, why is your sister so scared of Templars?"

Everyone at the table stopped what they were doing and gave Michael Westen an odd look. It was Fenris who was the first to speak.

"You really must not be from these parts."

He turned to Hawke.

"Are you sure he is not a Tevinter spy?"

Michael inwardly cursed.

_"__One of the cardinal rules in the spy world is maintaining your cover ID. It's important for the mission and important if you want to stay alive. If you let you guard down for even a moment, then something as innocent and mundane as a simple question or quip can unravel a cover, and that kind of mistake will get you killed."_

Hawke held up a hand.

"I told you, he's an ex-spy with a price on his head. And he comes from a far-off land called Miami."

She looked at Michael.

"A place where apparently mages are not persecuted."

_"__Of course it helps when you have a local asset who has feelings for you and is willing to go to great lengths to make sure your cover sticks, and by that extension keeps you alive."_

He turned from Kitty Hawke to the broody elf.

"You are right, I was a spy. And the land I came from was very similar to this Tevinter Imperium, in that they didn't persecute their mages."

Fenris shook his head.

"I still haven't heard of this Miami you speak of."

Michael shrugged, and Kitty spoke up.

"Well, some people think the Qunari fell out of the sky, since they didn't show up until a couple of hundred years ago."

She turned to Fenris.

"I trust Michael, and you trust me, so trust me when I say he is not a spy for the Tevinter Imperium."

She turned back to Michael.

"In answer to your question, in Ferelden and the Free Marches mages are considered a dangerous threat that has to be contained. Templars are usually charged with the hunting and containing of mages.'

Michael nodded.

"Someone that has been persecuted all their lives is going to be paranoid."

He looked over to Bethany.

"It's a useful trait to have, by the way."

Varric ordered another round of ales.

"You don't need to worry about Templars in Lowtown, Sunshine. Besides you know what Templars are like, bunch of bitchy little girls if they face real threats. And you know your sister will defend you."

He didn't notice the odd look Michael was giving him, but Kitty did.

"What's wrong, Michael?"

He grinned humorlessly and shook his head.

"Nothing, it's just some people here remind me of some colleagues I had back in Miami."

It was late when the last of Hawke's companions left, leaving only Kitty, Michael and Varric in his private suite. The dwarf shut the door and sat back down.

"Hawke, I have a proposition for you."

Kitty smiled.

"You probably shouldn't have Michael in here when you proposition me, or else he'll get jealous."

Varric chuckled.

"Oh, trust me Hawke, I wouldn't dream of propositioning you in front of your new boyfriend."

Hawke blushed but tried to cover it by taking a drink from her tankard. Varric continued.

"So, here's the thing, we need to find a way into the Deep Roads. Bartrand can lead us to the right place once we're down there, but we need a good entrance."

Hawke looked thoughtful for a moment before responding.

"Any entrance would do, wouldn't it? Unless there's a hungry dragon sitting in it, I suppose."

"We need an entrance that's close to our destination, but isn't already plundered or filled with darkspawn. Fortunately I've received some new information."

He stood up.

"There's a Grey Warden in the city. If anyone knows how to get down there, it'll be him."

Hawke smiled.

"Sounds like you have it all planned out, Varric."

Varric bowed with a smirk.

"And that, messere, is why I'm here."

He looked over to Michael.

"You should bring him with you, too. Darktown is a scary place, and the lowlifes there only respect force. I've seen Bright Eyes in action, so do me a favor and take him with you."

Michael gave him a flat look.

"Bright Eyes? Really?"

Varric chuckled.

"Oh, come on Michael, I have nicknames for all of Hawke's companions, but since you're such an enigma all I have to go with is your handsome good looks."

Hawke giggled again and stroked Michael's cheek.

"Bright Eyes, I love it."

Michael sighed.

"Vaughn, if you can hear me, I'm going to find you and kill you very slowly."

"That's not a very nice thing to say to your deity Vonn, Michael. Now come on, drink up! You're at least two tankards behind Varric, which means you're four behind me..."

_(AN: Yeah, I know I'm being kind of blatant with the Hawk/Westen shipping, but I promise it will be a fun ride. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this short little chapter, I'll try and have another one up in about a week or two. Until then!) _


	5. Breach of Faith

_(AN: this is a short interlude chapter, and I meant to have it published earlier but I lost my notes that stubbed it out, and just found it. So, one more short chapter for you!)_

"Bullshit! I call bullshit!"

The Seeker's attractive face contorted into a scowl, and her hazel eyes narrowed at her captive the dwarf.

"You expect me to believe that this stranger, this Michael Westen, comes from another world?"

Varric chuckled.

"I assure you my lady, I found it difficult to believe as well. I even called bullshit when he told Hawke and myself."

He looked down.

"It was shortly after he woke up in the Hanged Man and we were able to pry Isabella and Daisy away from him."

* * *

Varric settled into his favorite chair in his private suite at the Hanged Man. Seated across from him was the stranger, the one called Michael Westen. He had to admit, this one called Michael was even stranger the more he spoke. His armor, his clothes, even the odd-looking crossbow he had, nothing looked to be from the Free Marches, or anywhere.

"…I'm telling you, Miami is not a country, it's a city. It's part of a larger state, called Florida."

He shook his head.

"Why am I even bothering telling you this? This has to be a hallucination or a weird dream."

Hawke giggled.

"Well, if it is a dream, can you make me the most independently wealthy girl from Ferelden so I can move out of Uncle Gamlen's house?"

She paused for a moment.

"Oh, and also make me the most beautiful woman in all of Kirkwall."

Varric chuckled.

"Hawke that's a ridiculous request, you're already the most beautiful Ferelden refugee in all of Kirkwall."

Michael was watching this silly back and forth with increasing frustration.

"No, you don't understand, right now I'm probably being strapped down to a table and being waterboarded, and you and Short Round over there are just some sort visions I'm having as a result of Vaughn breaking me."

Hawke cocked her head to one side and nocked one of her eyebrows.

"This Vonn deity doesn't sound very nice. Maybe you should try someone a bit nicer, like Andraste?"

Varric snorted.

"You're wasting your time with this one Hawke, he's just some crazy guy who's trying to feed us a line of bullshit."

Hawke turned back to the stranger and tried a more diplomatic tack.

"You have to realize that what you're telling us is quite fantastic. Maybe if you had some sort of proof?"

Michael shook his head.

"Ookaaay, how about the fact that I'm wearing clothes that are completely different from yours?"

The dwarf shook his head.

"So you've got enough money to have your tailors make very odd-looking clothes. That makes you an eccentric noble, and we have plenty of those right here in Kirkwall."

Michael held up his left hand.

"Riiight, well what about this? This is a Chase-Durer UDT 1000 XL watch, waterproofed to 300 meters, it works the same as a clock but much more sophisticated."

Varric shrugged.

"So what? My brother Bartrand has a gold pocket watch Father gave him which does the exact same thing."

He paused.

"Well, at least he did until the little nug-humper decided to pawn it for an arena gambling debt."

Michael sighed and held up his weapon.

"Alright, well, this is a Heckler & Koch G36 assault rifle,"

He pulled a small level towards the back, and a shiny cylindrical object popped out the side.

"…it operates on the same principles as a crossbow, except it fires bullets, much in the same way a cannon works, except it has a self-contained explosive charge within the cylindrical cartridge behind the actual projectile which allows it to travel at a much higher speed."

He looked over to the redhead and the dwarf, who both looked at him as if he were speaking another language. Hawke spoke up first.

"Alright, that was most enlightening, but could you repeat that, only this time speak in simple terms like 'this metal stick go boom' or something like that?"

She and Varric shared a laugh, then the dwarf spoke.

"Stranger, it's obvious to me you're very wealthy, very resourceful and very crazy. You've obviously spent some time in Orzammar, and you wouldn't be the first rich mad inventor who employed dwarven craftsmen to implement your ideas. All I take away from your clothes and gear is that you're not from Kirkwall, but we still don't know who you are and where you came from."

He looked over to Hawke.

"And until you can find a way to convince us, and myself especially that you're not some crazy man we can't help you."

Michael shook his head in frustration, but then an idea came to him.

_"__When you're dealing with a culture that's radically different from your own, whether it be Pashtun goat herders who've never seen a laser target designator before or Namibian Bushmen who think that cola bottles are gifts from the gods, trying to explain your origins or technology can result in trying to explain complicated things to people who may not understand what you are trying to get across. And if there is a language barrier, or if you're in a medieval world of magic, that can get you bogged down in the details."_

Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone and powered it up.

_"…__sometimes it's easier to go with the conventional wisdom of a picture, or set of pictures, is worth a thousand complicated words."_

He looked over to Hawke and Varric.

"I have this device, it has the ability to show pictures of my world…"

* * *

Varric made a gesture of a small imaginary box with his hands.

"…Then he pulled out a little square box oh, about this big, he called it an Eye-Fon, and somehow this box conjured up images. He showed fantastic sights; there were tall structures made of steel and glass, taller than the Magister's Towers in the Tevinter Imperium, he called the skyscrapers."

"There were carriages, enclosed in metal and glass and painted bright colors, with large lamps that glowed without fire and, at least according to him, moved under their own power. And the women…"

He paused to chuckle to himself.

"Well, let's just say the women in Miami must worship the Sun because they barely wear anything at all."

His musings were interrupted by a slap to the top of his head.

"Focus dwarf, I care not for your salacious fantasies! Are you telling the truth? Do you swear, by whatever you hold dear, that you speak the truth when you speak of these incredible images you witnessed?"

Varric nodded.

"Seeker, I swear on the Rock of Orzammar and Bones of my Ancestors and by the Five Paragons that I speak the truth. The stranger called Michael Westen was definitely not from our world."

He continued.

"After that, we both decided it would be easier to come up with a cover story than try to tell the truth. With Hawke trying to keep a low profile since her sister was an apostate, she really didn't want the Viscount and half the Templars in Kirkwall trying to find the stranger. So, the cover story was that this stranger Michael was from a far-off land of Miami, and that he was an ex-spy fleeing from his former masters who had placed a price on his head."

He shrugged.

"And, aside from a few close calls, the cover story stuck. I knew he was special and that Fate or the Maker or whatever had brought him to Kirkwall for a reason."  
He paused.

"But if I knew just how big of a role he would have in the coming events, I probably would have been nicer to him and bought him more beers."

_(AN: One of the things that always frustrated me about Dragon Age crossovers involving people from the future (like Mass Effect) or modern time is that the writers always make the Thedas population are super impressed and go all "Ooooh, magic!" with the insert character's weapons and gear. I tried to make this a bit more realistic in terms of how someone like Varric would react to being told something like that. Anyways, hope you enjoyed. Next chapter should be 'Past and Future Apostates', and should be up in a couple of weeks, possibly sooner.)_


	6. Past and Future Apostates

Michael looked around the makeshift shelter for Ferelden refugees while Hawke and Bethany spoke with the woman in charge.

_"__Tracking down someone who doesn't want to be found is tricky, if they don't want to be found they usually have reasons for hiding. As a spy you have two choices, you can either lure them out into the open, or find out where they're hiding."_

Michael's thoughts where interrupted after Hawke asked the woman where the Grey Warden could be found.

"The only Ferelden Grey Warden I know of is sitting on the throne."

_"__The best liars in the world, no matter how good they are, have signs that give them away, called 'tells'. From the best confidence men all the way down to successful salesmen, they all have one thing in common: no matter how good they are at lying, they all have tells. A sudden shift in eyes, a defensive posture, a change in tone of voice, all point to someone who is lying. Although in fairness if you're someone who runs a charity out of the goodness of your heart, chances are you're going to be a lousy liar."_

"Listen ma'am, we're all Ferelden refugees here, we don't want to bother your healer if he's busy, but we need his help, and we know he's in Darktown but we just need to know where."

The woman turned to him.

"The refugees have an awful time of it here in Kirkwall, most can have enough to buy bread, and yet he heals them, binds their wounds without so much as a thought for coin. I'll not lost him to those blasted Templars."

Michael raised a reassuring hand.

"I can promise you we're not Templars, as I said we just need his help."

Hawke chimed in.

"Your healer is in no danger from me, as for the mage bit,"

She motioned over to her sister Bethany.

"I know what it means to be hunted by the Templars so I promise you no harm will come to him."

The woman shrugged.

"I suppose it isn't my secret to keep. Anders has certainly been free enough with his services. The refugees in Darktown know to find the healer look for the lit lantern."

Michael rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

"Great, is that supposed to be some sort of homing beacon that we follow?"

Hawke nudge him, although was grinning as she did, and thanked the woman.

"What more can go wrong today?"

The morning had started like the previous two morning since his arrival in this strange world of magic, waking up a 0600, doing morning exercise under the ogling gaze of the pirate girl and the barmaids, and then rendezvousing with Hawke at her uncle's house. The first lead for finding this Grey Warden was to stop by the refugee clinic, and now they were off to the underworld of the city known as Darktown. His thoughts where interrupted and he noticed the crowd outside the clinic were armed and hostile. Quickly he brought his G36 to bear. The leader brandished a pair of wicked-looking daggers.

"Hey! We 'eard you in there, asking about the healer!"

He leveled his blades at Hawke.

"We know what happens to mages in this town, and it ain't gonna happen to him!"

Michael leaned over to Hawke.

"Permission to open fire?"

"Not yet, let me try diplomacy first, Michael."

She looked over to Bethany and nodded. The mage Hawke spoke up.

"Look, we're Fereldens just trying to keep out of the Templar's sight, same as you!"

The leader lowered his blades.

"Fereldens? But you, your clothes, I figured you for a Kirkwaller, sorry!"

He bowed at Hawke.

"Maker Bless the rule of our King Alistair!"

* * *

Michael clicked on the rail-mounted light to his assault rifle. Darktown came by its name honestly. He wrinkled his nose, based off the smell, he guessed it must have been a sewer at one time or another. He understood why the dwarf insisted that he accompany Hawke through Darktown. There seemed to be danger at every corner.

_"__There's a reason that those who don't want to be found choose sewers or abandoned underground complexes to hide. Tunnels can go on for miles, and if you don't know your way around, your enemies can get lost. And if it's also a haven for lowlifes hiding in every nook and cranny who would kill newcomers for a few copper coins, you have the added bonus of your own guard detail."_

He saw movement in the darkness, and signaled Hawke to stop. As he crept forward sudden four squat assailants in ragged leather armor jumped out of the darkness. He squeezed off a single shot and it connected between the eyes of one Coterie rogue, who collapsed to the ground. Two others were engulfed in flames, courtesy of Hawke's sister Bethany. The third rushed Michael, too close for him to use his rifle. The assassin slashed at Michael with a serrated blade, and the spy just barely dodged back, running into a rickety old cupboard in the process. A large metal pan teetered off the edge, and Michael grabbed it just in time to dodge another attack, and he brought the utensil down and clonked the assassin on the head.

Michael looked curiously at the pan and shrugged as Hawke approached.

"Wow, you're lethal with that frying pan, remind me never to confront you in the kitchen."

Hawke joked as she started riffling through the pockets of the Coterie thug, humming to herself.

"Um, Kitty?"

She looked up at Michael smiling.

"You're using my first name, wonderful! Here's a cookie!"

She tossed him a pouch, which when he opened it revealed some rough-cut stones.

"They're flawed diamonds, but they should be worth a few silver coins."

Michael pocketed the pouch and continued.

"Riiight, listen Kitty what is it you're singing? You were singing that same tune when you were looting the other dead corpses."

She smiled.

"Don't you remember, silly? It's the Loot Song, as I told Aveline, you need to sing it while you loot otherwise you won't get good stuff."

Hawke went back to her looting.

"You see, it goes something like 'Loot-ity loot, loot, loot, we likes to loot, cuz we likes good loot, loot-ity, loot, loot, loot…"

She paused.

"Actually that's as much of the song as I have, not much rhymes with loot."

Michael actually laughed.

"Well, there's 'boot', and 'moot'…and 'suit'."

She giggled.

"Maybe I should let you write up the lyrics to our Loot Song, then."

* * *

They arrived at a small alcove that was only lit by a single torch. Inside was a large, dimly lit room that looked like a makeshift clinic, with cots strewn about. A man wearing some odd-looking robes decorated with a ragged fur cape was placing his hands on an ill-looking child. What really struck Michael was the fact that the man's hands were glowing. This must be the Grey Warden they needed to speak with. He was about to put a forestalling hand on Hawke's shoulder but she moved forward and cleared her throat. Immediately the Grey Warden spun around and brandished his staff.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation, why do you threaten it?"

It was then that he noticed a red dot on his chest. One of the group was pointing what looked like a musket or crossbow at him, and a beam of red light issued from its tip. Their leader, a redhaired young woman, put a hand on the musket, and its wielder lowered it reluctantly.

"It's alright Michael."

Hawke turned to the Grey Warden and lifted a placating hand.

"I'm just here to talk."

Michael spoke up.

"We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads, and rumor has it you were a Warden. Maybe you could help us find a way in."

The mage lowered his staff and relaxed a bit.

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back? I'm not going back, those bastards made me get rid of my cat, Ser Pounce-a-lot. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot, he hated the Deep Roads."

Hawke raised one of her red eyebrows.

"You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot…in the Deep Roads?"

The former Grey Warden shrugged.

"He was a gift, a noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a gemlock once, he swatted the bugger on the nose."

Michael interjected to get the conversation back on course.

"Listen, we're not here to take you back and you don't have to go, but we're part of an expedition heading into the Deep Roads, and we could really use any information you have."

Hawke nodded.

"Any information you give us could save lives."

The mage shook his head.

"I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is Anders, and I could die a happy man if I never set foot in the Deep Roads again."

He paused.

"Although, a favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal?"

Hawke's brow furrowed.

"Let's be more specific. I don't do anything involving children or small animals."

The former Grey Warden didn't seem to get her joke, and continued.

"I have a map of the Deep Roads in this area, but there's a price. I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend, a mage. A prisoner in the wretched gallows. The Templars have learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them, and the map is yours."

Hawke chuckled.

"I'm not sure about attacking Templars, I might rather take my chances with the darkspawn."

Anders made a dismissive gesture.

"If we fight Templars it will be because they decide that anyone who befriends a mage deserves death without question."

Bethany spoke up.

"As just as this man's cause is, it scares me. I don't want to give the Templars another reason to hunt us."

Michael agreed with Hawke's younger sister.

"And something about this plan stinks."

Anders continued.

"These are my terms, if you want my aid with the expedition, meet me at the Chantry after dark."

He turned and left without another word. After he left Hawke turned to her spy-turned-companion.

"What do you think, Michael?"

He shook his head.

"As I said, something about this stinks. I don't trust him, Hawke. Men who possess power and have a messianic complex are dangerous, just as men who have a martyrdom complex. But if you're a man who possess power and a messianic and martyrdom complex, that makes them lethal. Men from my world committed all sorts of atrocities on the grounds they they were fighting on behalf of the oppressed or some other higher cause. And this Anders sounds just like those types."

He shook his head.

"It's your call, but I'd be careful. And if you go, I'm coming with you, Hawke."

She giggled and playfully pinched him on the forearm.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's Kitty! If Bethany is in the room and you say 'Hawke, I've got a bad feeling' or 'Hawke, I'm going to ravish you,' she's going to think you're talking about her, not me."

Bethany blushed beet red.

"Sister! Really, the things you say!"

_(AN: and the blatant shipping continues. I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. I went on vacay and then had a mountain of paperwork to plow through. I've split this chapter into two parts, I know it's short but at least it's something. Hopefully I'll have part two up by next week.)_


	7. Past and Future Apostates, Part Two

_(AN: I'm sorry for the delay in getting this out. Work has been nuts, and I've been behind on everything. Hope you enjoy!)_

The sun was setting as Kitty Hawke pushed the door to the Hanged Man open. Inside she was greeted by the familiar sounds of glasses clinking and the smell of liquor and unwashed bodies. The stranger Michael was nowhere to be seen, so she walked across the common room and climbed the stairs to the second floor, and then crossed the hallway to Varric's private suite. Inside she saw Michael and the dwarf in a lively discussion.

"-I'm telling you, Bright Eyes, it's one thing to for us dwarves to make things, but unless you explain this formula for your gaatlock, or gunpowder, in layman's terms you're wasting your time."

Varric picked up one of the bullets Michael had put in front of him and examined it.

"Although I admit anyone who does unlock this secret would make a bloody fortune."

He looked up.

"Oh, hello Hawke."

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Michael spoke up.

"We were just finishing up a business discussion."

Hawke smiled.

"And what's my favorite warrior discussing with my favorite dwarf?"

Varric held up one of the cartridges.

"Bright Eyes is seeing if we can replicate the explosive powder that propels his, what do you call them again?"

"Bullets, Varric, they're called bullets."

The dwarf chuckled.

"Right. Anyways I was explaining to your boyfriend that we can't just magically replicate his bullets like that."

He handed the bullet back to Michael.

"If you want your explosive bullets to magically replicate themselves you should talk to Daisy or Sunshine."

Michael accepted the bullet and inserted it back into his spare magazine. He looked over to Hawke.

"So Hawke-er, Kitty-"

She smiled at him. He continued.

"-are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Kitty shrugged.

"We need that map. And besides, I have a nice strong man protecting me, I'm not worried. Come, I need to stop by the house and pick up a few things."

As Hawke led Michael to her uncle's house, she spoke up.

"There's something I should tell you about a certain member of the family."

Michael checked an alleyway as one unsavory character shuffled out of sight.

"You mean your younger brother Carver? Or your Mother?"

Kitty giggled nervously.

"Er, no. It's my dog Fifi."

Michael smiled as they climbed the steps.

"You mean you're afraid your lapdog might not like me and nip my ankles?"

Hawke giggled.

"Something like that. But don't worry, Fifi is energetic, but very friendly."

Michael chuckled to himself about how some things, whether in the real world or this bizarre world of magic, never change. He was still thinking about women and their fetish for small dogs that yip instead of bark as he opened the door to Hawke's uncle's house, when something furry and the size of a beer truck collided with him and pinned him to the floor.

When Michael finally got his bearings he was staring in a wide open maw with lots of sharp teeth. The Mabari warhound gave Michael a cautious sniff and barked happily, and then gave the former spy a large, slobbery lick. Michael pushed the large dog's head out of the way in time to hear Hawke's voice.

"See Michael? He likes you!"

She pulled the dog off Michael, and he picked himself up, wiping the dog saliva off his face.

"You named a large, lethal attack dog…Fifi?"

Kitty didn't seem to hear Michael as she cooed at her dog.

"Awww, did Fifi miss his mummy? Who woves his mum? Who woves his mummy dearest?"

Michael was about to speak but was interrupted by another voice. An older, gruff looking make shuffled over.

"So Katarina, this must be your new boyfriend."

He looked Michael up and down, taking in his unusual clothes.

"I don't suppose it's too much to ask that he is some wealthy noble who can take you and your slobbering mutt in?"

The large dog paused and growled at Hawke's uncle, but then perked up at another voice.

"Kitty, is that you?"

Bethany entered the room from an adjacent doorway, she embraced her sister and turned to Michael.

"Hello, Michael. I'm sorry for the mess, if I knew sister was bringing company I would have cleaned up."

She looked over to her older sister.

"Are you going through with Anders' quest?"

Hawke nodded.

"It's the only way to get that map to the Deep Roads."

Bethany looked concerned.

"You sure you don't want me along?"

Hawke shook her head.

"If it involves running afoul of Templars, I don't want you getting outed. Besides-"

She gestured over to Michael.

"-I'm bringing backup, I'll be safe."

* * *

After dark Michael and Kitty Hawke set out. Before they set out, the former spy did an ammo and inventory check. He had two spare magazines for his G36, making a mental note to conserve his ammo, as they'll need at least one mag for the Deep Roads expedition. He also had his Sig Saur P229 with fifteen rounds, his SealTac knife, the two rogue daggers courtesy of Hawke, and his Iphone with about half a charge. He also noted his two flash bang grenades, courtesy of Fiona and their last mission.

Briefly Michael wondered how Fiona was doing. They had broken up weeks ago, and she had moved on to a new boyfriend, an EMT, but for Michael it was still a very raw emotional wound. He then thought about Sam, the former Navy Seal turned friend and compatriot. The man who had an affinity for mojitos and rich divorcée's, who always had Michael's back from the first day he set foot in Miami. Michael wondered what Sam would think of Hawke, Varric, the pirate queen and the elves.

His thoughts were interrupted by Hawke speaking to him.

"Are you sure you don't want to bring Fenris or Merrill along on this mission, Michael?"

He shook his head.

_ "__When performing a risky mission involving infiltration, whether it be a top secret military installation or a monastery guarded by fanatically religious knights templar, the fewer members to the to the team, the better. A three person team can slip by guards undetected easier than a platoon of soldiers."_

"Negative. This mission requires stealth, the fewer people infiltrating, the better."

* * *

When they reached the Chantry courtyard, Hawke saw a lone figure standing by the door, and recognized it as the former Grey Warden. He nodded at Hawke.

"I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago. No sign of Templars so far. Are you ready?"

Michael spoke up.

"We didn't see anyone suspicious, let move in fast and quiet, the sooner we're done the better."

Anders looked a bit put off by the former spy's brusque manner.

"I'll handle the talking, you watch for Templars."

He then pushed the large door to the Chantry open, and ducked inside. Hawke and Michael followed. Inside the darkened interior Michael was struck by how much it resembled the interior of a cathedral, complete with incense and burning candles everywhere. He caught sight of Anders scurrying up a flight of stairs and motioned Hawke to follow up.

At the top of the stairs there was a corridor off the main hallway that seemed to function as some sort of dormitory, complete with beds. There Anders had reached a person, probably the one he was trying to reach. The man, presumably Karl, spoke up.

"Anders I know you too well. I knew you would never give up."

Anders looked perplexed.

"Karl, what's wrong?"

The man called Karl turned around.

"I was too rebellious, like you. The Templars knew I had to be made an…example of."

Michael felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_"__When entering into a potential combat situation, the element of surprise is crucial. Of course that works both ways. If your enemy has a hostage and knows you're planning a rescue op, one of the easiest ways to get the upper hand is to stage an ambush at the place where your hostage is being held. In the business, it's a 'bait and switch.' Of course, if the enemy has turned the hostage, it makes their job much easier."_

Michael watched as the mage continued to talk to Anders as if he were a small child, and heard the clanking of boots behind him. He swung around and saw several Templars approaching them. The mage gestured to Anders.

"This is the apostate you seek."

Immediately Anders fell to his knees, and when he arose, he was glowing. The possessed Anders brandished his staff and spoke in a sinister voice.

**_"_****_You will never take another mage again, as you took him!"_**

Michael inwardly cursed as he watched the Templars draw their blades.

_ "__When the infiltration mission goes sideways, and the alarm is sounded and your position is compromised, then suddenly the size of your team ceases to be an asset and instead becomes a liability. As a spy if you're in this situation then precious seconds count before things escalate and people die."_

He unclipped flash bang grenade from his vest and grabbed Hawke. He threw the grenade at the Templars' feet, and they stared at it in curiosity. Even the possessed Anders paused in his rant to stare at it. Michael flipped the bed over and pulled Hawke behind it, pulling her in close.

"Close your eyes and cover your ears, Hawke!"

A second later there was a blinding flash.

_"The M84, also known as a flashbang or stun grenade, is the currently-issued stun grenade of the US Army and countless counter-terrorist organizations. The reason it's so popular is that it is classified as a 'less lethal' weapon. Upon detonation, it emits an intensely loud bang of 170–180 decibels and a blinding flash of more than one million candela. With that sort of power, it doesn't matter if you're a roomful of coked-up cartel thugs, or a group of hardened religious knights or a possessed magic user, you're going down."_

Michael pulled himself up from cover and examined the grenade's handiwork. All of the templars, and both mages were out of it. He walked over to the former Grey Warden. Anders had stopped glowing but he was still on the ground and incoherent. Michael clubbed him with the butt of his rifle, and hoisted the mage over his shoulder. He turned over to Hawke, who was still staring at the unusual sight.

"Hawke, we need to get out of here, now!"

_"__For a spy, there's no shame in retreat. __When faced with a more powerful enemy you're trained to get out of the way and keep moving. It's not about running away or giving up. It's all about surviving to fight another day."_

For once Kitty didn't chide him on using her family name instead of her first name, but followed the strange former spy past the stunned Templars. If not for that odd blinding flash, they would have been forced to kill the Templars, and it would have been a bloodbath. She didn't think of herself as that religious, but as she followed Michael out of the Chantry she thanked Andraste for sending him to her.

_(AN: Yeah, I know I'm really dogging on Anders, but in fairness and in the context of the story the guy really shouldn't have allowed a demon to possess him. That's Mage Survival 101. And for the people who are probably seething that I didn't have Michael deliver a curbstomb battle to the Templars, it bugged me that Hawke and co. could kill a roomful of Templars, in the Chantry no less, and not suffer any immediate consequences. That and Hawke was outnumbered, so I thought, 'what would Michael Westen do?' Anyways, hope you enjoyed it, next update won't take so long, I promise.)_


End file.
